


Confessing to the endless sin

by KittyAug, KittyAugust (KittyAug)



Series: Of Hunters and Hellblazers [20]
Category: Constantine (TV), Hellblazer & Related Fandoms, Supernatural
Genre: Belligerent Sexual Tension, Big Reveal, Casual D/s, Constandean, Dom Dean, Guinea Pig Zed, Kinky Constantine, Kinky Dean, Kinky tags only apply to one chapter, Knife Play, Light Bondage, M/M, Mild BDSM, Power Dynamics, Sexual Tension, Switching, pain play, unprotected sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-12
Updated: 2015-02-03
Packaged: 2018-03-07 06:13:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3164282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KittyAug/pseuds/KittyAug, https://archiveofourown.org/users/KittyAug/pseuds/KittyAugust
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zed is still a guinea pig but no one seems as bothered about that as they should be.</p>
<p>Chapter One: Constantine gets introspective (never a good idea).<br/>Chapter Two: Sam is unimpressed and more than a little confused.<br/>Chapter Three: Dean finds out something he really didn't want to know. (Smut & BDSM this chapter)<br/>Chapter Four: Gabriel is even more unimpressed than Sam.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Constantine gets introspective (never a good idea)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The story title is from _My God_ by Jethro Tull.

Dean Winchester is a hell-fucked closet case with a hero complex and a muscle car. Constantine knows he shouldn’t bother – no matter how good the sex is. _Knows_ he should know better. Self-preservation would suggest running all the way back to Hell. But John also knows himself well enough to realise he’s always had a thing for the broken ones. It’s narcissism o’ course. Sees himself reflected back and that’s what draws him in. Snags on to him in dark and dirty places and won't let go.

And if anyone was a broken, bloodied, reflection of John Constantine it is Dean Winchester.

Just as much of a mess and fighting the same endless pointless war - with the same nil results. He’s just as much of a hell-forged, battle scared, excuse for a man. Just as many demons on his tail and ghosts in his head. Not the least of which is daddy’s voice screaming in the back of every action. Leaving just as many tragedies in their wakes. But Dean wears it better somehow. He’s still a hero. Even when his body count is, by some dark miracle, higher. He still _wants_ to be a hero. 'Saving people. Hunting things.' Tries to hold on to the moral compass that John threw in the drink decades ago.

When push comes to shove there’s no _one_ person John would damn himself for. Nothing and no one he wouldn’t sacrifice to save the world – except maybe himself. But Dean? He’s got so many people he cares about. Really cares. It bleeds the twit dry but he keeps on caring. Pulled in ten directions. Keeps on cutting himself to pieces on the demonic edges of the world. Scrabbling and crawling to be a man his father would be proud of. Without ever realising he’s been more than that for decades.

John thinks about saying it sometimes. Tell the lad he’s more of a man than John Winchester could ever hope to be. He saves it though, the ultimate backhanded insult. Even though he’s pretty sure the father would bloody well agree with him. He knows Dean wouldn’t brook what he could only ever see as an insult to his father’s memory. He would never even taste the compliment it was meant to be to both of them. But it’s an ace, and John knows it, so he keeps it in his pocket. Just in case. Because John is what he is and knowing how to cut someone, with or without a knife, is what he does. Even if he _is_ occasionally and currently covered in their spunk.

John pushes himself up, ignores the crunching sound in his spine, and looks down at the American. Really looks for a moment. This close and this open he can see the scars that no one else can. The man is still beautiful. Or ‘well fit’, as his niece would say. That’s probably part of the problem. John never could resist a pretty face all that long. But he is also marred, _marked_ , under the skin. Fractured along each elegant line. And that is _more_ of the problem. A pretty face and a tattered heart. Red and black twisted through the pure greens and cold gold of the man’s soul. Old, almost healed, Hell marks from the last apocalypse. Hellhound’s teeth, almost faded. But then there are the newer ones too. Vicious bloody tears rent into his freckled flesh. Healing slowly and ripping back open every time he takes it too far. Which seems to be pretty bloody often.

Winchester entwined their fingers at some point where John had his hands pinned above their heads while they fucked. He’s breathing hard. Coming down. But he hasn’t let go. It’s _the_ arm. So John focuses, the same way he has dozens of times in the last few days. And pulls at it with his mind. It doesn’t hurt exactly but it stings. Like lemon juice in an existing wound. A sharp edge on top of his usual existential pains. He draws off as much of the sticky darkness as he can without alerting Winchester. Careful not to think about what he's doing or why.

The Mark of Cain. How pig headed can one man be? Apparently it was Dean Winchester’s life goal to test that hypothesis extensively. Although John should probably be grateful for that. A boy who saw mummy burned in Hellfire but still wants to fuck the ‘Hellblazer’. That’s got to be some very _special_ kind of fucked up.

John winces and makes to move away. Trying to cover the internal struggle as his own demonic blood fights against Cain’s borrowed violence. He knows his blood will win – Nergal never could stand Cain. But Dean’s fingers grip tighter and his free arm, the _unmarked_ one, snakes around John’s waist. Pulling him in closer. Damned little sensualist. His eyes are brighter now. But he still hasn’t closed off which is a bit of a surprise. He would normally push John away himself once he remembers who he thinks he’s meant to be.

John uses his free hand to run a thumb along the younger man’s jaw. It means putting his weight on their joined hands but Winchester can take it. He knows it’s too intimate. Too tender. Knows he’s pushing his luck. But he’s thinking about the 20 year old hunter who practically threw himself at the mighty Hellblazer. The boy who just wanted to fuck a legend. Or maybe even the 25 year old who saw John in all his fucked up glory and still wanted to kiss him like salvation. The idiot who keeps forgiving the unforgivable. He thinks it’s one of them who holds on to him now. Rather than the hell-burnt 36 year old mess of a man. So it is those memories he responds to. He ignores the lingering threat of sulphur and leans down to kiss the man he knew. Even John Constantine can’t kiss away demon smoke but he can sure as Hellfire pretend it isn’t there.

It is passion rough but post-coital sweet, that type of kiss. And that’s another thing – if there is anyone better at denying a problem than John himself then it is this bloody Winchester. He’d panicked enough about the angel walking in on them in the kitchen. Which John had selflessly sorted while Winchester pulled himself together and promptly ran the fuck away.

The brother hadn’t seemed to realise where his missing guest was ensconced this morning but Dean still had to be worried. Yet it didn’t show. Not right now. He kissed like they had all morning - all the time in the world even. Like it didn’t matter half as much as it _would_ matter in about five minutes. In a world as bloody and bitter as theirs maybe this is all you get. Moments of pretending stolen between running to or away, trying to kick a demon in the arse or buggering up the world trying.

Winchester finally releases him. So John moves away, pulls off the condom and throws it in the rubbish bin next to the bed. Half-heartedly wipes himself off with a tissue. Runs a hand through his hair and looks around for his smokes. When Dean only rolls his eyes and shuffles back up the bed, Constantine takes it as permission and lights up. Offers the packet to the lad who takes one – a sure sign that John is still in his good graces. For now. Winchester’s tolerance for smoking seems to be directly proportional to his tolerance for John.

John leans against the foot of the bed. Facing the hunter. One leg up to prop the arm holding the smoke. Watches the lad slowly come back to himself and bunch back in. He can almost see the walls of brutal machismo going up. It is like a study in unhealthy coping mechanisms. Yet another parallel. John snorts half a laugh at that. Takes another drag of his cigarette.

“Fuck,” Dean says and bangs his head against the headboard behind him. That’ll be reality come a’ knocking then.

“That’s what we just did, mate.” John gives his best lecherous smile.

“You think you’re funny don’t you?”

“Yes. So do you."

Winchester just rolls his eyes again. Takes a drag on his own cigarette and blows the smoke at the ceiling.

“I need a shower,” Dean says with vague accusation. Even though John is almost certain that getting grubby in the first place was almost all the hunter’s idea.

“That an invitation, luv?” John asks. But he isn’t actually all that hopeful. Crossing the corridor without being spotted was going to be difficult enough alone - let alone together. Sneaking about like bloody teenagers. Yet another reason not to do this in the first place.

Dean gives him a measuring look. John stretches his neck to cover slight discomfort. He doesn’t have a problem being in the buff – you don’t get good at the type of magics John does without spending a lot of time naked and usually covered in something disgusting. And he certainly shouldn’t be uncomfortable in front of a bloke he just rogered six ways from Sunday. But he can feel something in the air. A tension he isn’t sure he wants to understand.

“Sure,” Winchester says with a shrug.

“Yeah?” John blinks off his surprise. “Right, then.”

Dean shakes his head amusedly and gets out of bed. John feels a slight sense of vindication when the hunter’s back clicks as he stretches. He’s heard enough ‘old man’ jokes in the last few days to justify it.

Winchester throws John’s trousers at him and goes in search of his own. John stays put for now. Watches the smoothly precise way the bloke moves. Hyperaware. Each action planned - masking a deep potential for instant violence. He’s changed. Of course he has. He’s grown into and surpassed his training. What was once mere potential is now pure, deadly grace. Barely represses power in every motion. A bloody gorgeous sight with a bitter sweet edge. The Mark of Cain hanging over him like a modern Damocles. Damned by a destiny he refused but still paying its price. John sighs.

They haven’t talked about the Mark since the first night John found the brothers out in Colorado.

> _They had ended up in a pub, of course. Dean had backed him into a corner in the gents almost as soon as he was drunk enough to justify it. Of course._
> 
> _And John let him at first. Kissed back just as hard. But then he felt it. Felt the demonic energy pressing in against his protections. He had grabbed Dean’s arm, twisting until the Mark was showing._
> 
> _“Bleeding hell Winchester. Will you never bloody learn?” He had demanded. God he’d been angry. Angrier than he had any right to be. Ran a thumb over the Mark then dropped the offending limb. “How long?”_
> 
> _Dean actually flinched. “Long enough.” John had to wonder how much his approval meant to the bloke. Not for the first time. And hoped to hell that desire didn't have a sinister origin.  
>  _
> 
> _“Where’s the bone?”_
> 
> _“Crowley’s got it." It was mumbled but John heard it well enough.  
>  _
> 
> _“Of bloody course he does.” That twat had his hands in everything these days. And John let him win at chess often enough to know why. He was a crafty bugger. But at least Winchester didn't have it. That was probably better, right?  
>  _
> 
> _John pushed Dean off him. Still irrationally annoyed. And that was that. He had stomped out of the gents and left Winchester to stew in it. Not a word about it since from either of them._

“Hey,” Dean says. “You wanna drop the soap or what?” He’s found jeans and an old Led Zeppelin tee-shirt. Looks younger in the loose fitting shirt. The cracks under his mask are even clearer now.

“So eager,” John smirks back. “You seen me shirt?”

“Nope,” Dean says, slightly smug. “I think I prefer you without.” He bends down and kisses John’s neck when he says it. Traces a hand over John’s skin making him catch his breath. Smiles into a trail of short kisses.

“I’m sure you do, luv. But your brother might not, yeah?” Of course John knows that isn’t the best thing to say. But as usual his curiosity overrules common sense. And besides, winding up Dean Winchester is a hobby. Everyone needs hobbies.

“Hmph,” is all Dean says. But he pulls away and noticeably stiffens while he looks around the room. Then he grabs a grey wool dressing gown, embroidered with the Men of Letters sigil, off the wardrobe door and tosses it at Constantine. “Here, hurry up.”


	2. Sam is unimpressed and more than a little confused

It has been almost an hour since Sam and Chas Chandler started looking for the missing demonologist. And thus Sam’s run in with Dean’s locked door – which he is assiduously not thinking about. God, his brother! He’s having a how are they even related morning.

Eventually Chandler announced that John would probably just turn up on his own. Sam was still a little worried, there were a lot of places to get lost in the Bunker and a lot of other things that could get a curious mage into trouble. Or get them _all_ into trouble if combined with John Constantine anyway. But Chas knew him better than Sam and he seemed confident that he would turn up in time and in one piece. He was the Hellblazer after all. Maybe Sam was being overly anxious? That has been known to happen on occasion.

So Sam has given up searching and is making coffee in the kitchen when he hears Dean’s distinctive laugh. He’s talking to someone.

“It was a shifter, you can’t just… whoa, Sammy?” Dean says when he tumbles through the door and spots Sam. He sounds uncomfortable. He’s even blushing. Good. So he should. Sam would really like it if his brother managed to learn a bit of healthy human shame for once. It would make so many parts of Sam’s life so much easier.

“Dean,” Sam says only a little teasingly. “Food’s in the oven keeping warm and there’s coffee. In case you need to _rehydrate_.”

“Ha, thanks.” Dean pulls himself together and straightens up. “Oh, I found your precious Hellblazer for you.”

Constantine trails him into the room. Dressed in his normal slacks, shirt, and tie combo but missing the perpetual trench coat. His hair is wet but he doesn't look any worse for wear.

“Mornin’ squire,” John says cheerfully. “Don’t suppose there’s any chance of tea?” He’s already investigating the rack where the pots and appliances live in search of a kettle.

“Um, yeah,” Sam says. Still a bit confused. He had assumed Dean had been, ah, occupied the whole time. Sam didn’t even realize he would look for John at all, let alone manage to find him. Still, no matter how good the old Hellblazer was as a demon hunter Sam would rather have him in sight – and Dean didn’t even like the guy so probably had even more reason to stop him wandering around the Bunker.

Sam produces the kettle from where he keeps it by the stove and fills it.

“Brilliant,” Constantine says and hauls himself up onto one of the stools that surround the counter island. “Milk, no sugar.” Apparently Sam is making the tea as well as the coffee. Good to know.

Dean gets the plates of leftovers from the oven, which he gives a suspicious look. “Who cooked?” he asks. It’s some sort of hash thing that Sam didn’t understand but it tasted good.

“Chas,” Sam says.

“Okay,” Dean doesn’t sound convinced but he dumps one plate in front of John before going to get a mug of coffee. He props himself against the wall next to the coffee maker, mug next to him, plate balanced and eating one handed. It’s a defensive thing. Means he can keep the whole room and both exits in sight as well as Sam and Constantine. He’s normally more relaxed here. Sam tries not to worry.

He’s still avoiding Sam’s gaze. He should be embarrassed after this morning. Growing up in such close proximity they obviously had experience avoiding and ignoring certain topics. But even Dean is usually more circumspect around other people and certainly more restrained during a case. Although Sam’s not sure this counts as a case per ce.

“Where have you _been_?” Chas demands as soon as he walks into the room from the Library side door. He has the same resigned tone that reminds Sam so much of himself dealing with Dean – Sam can’t help but smile even as Chas continues, “I went out first thing to get your 10 quarts of lambs’ blood and then I couldn’t find you.”

Chandler has every right to be a bit bitter. Sam knew the sort of looks that you get when you’re 6’4” and buying a large supply of animal blood. It isn’t an easy errand and the butchers of Lebanon, KS are already getting suspicious. One asked to try Sam’s blood sausages the other week. He’s considering learning to make them just to prove he’s not a crazed satanic witch. Even if black magic _is_ actually closer to the real explanation – it’s the principle of the thing. Maybe he can convince Dean to do it?

“Ah, exploring?” John tries. “Nothin’ wrong with a wee adventure.”

“You just…”

Sam turns when Chas’ mild nagging trails off abruptly. He’s looking from John, to Dean, and back again. Whatever he sees seems to satisfy his curiosity.

“Really?” Chas says with a laugh. Which doesn’t answer Sam’s confusion at all.

John just shrugs and looks generally unrepentant.

Oh shit. Is Chas implying… and why is John just letting him think… Sam glances quickly at Dean to gauge his reaction. He’s been relatively calm the last few days which is an absolute blessing - more than Sam had hoped for. Considering the Mark combined with Constantine’s presence was never going to be an easy combination. But he doesn’t seem angry. He’s seemed more himself for days actually. Apart from constantly bitching at John – although that’s par for the course too really. Maybe he missed it?

“Where’s Cas?” Dean says suddenly. Changing the subject. Sam lets out a breath he didn’t even realize he was holding. “Shouldn’t you be organizing a search party by now?”

“Ha, real funny,” Sam deadpans. “He took Zed outside for some air.”

“Why is Cas allowed to touch the psychic guinea pig and we’re not?” Dean asks grumpily. Which is a bit rich seeing as he doesn’t even really like animals. He just doesn’t like not being allowed to do something - no matter what it is.

“Zed likes him,” Chas supplies.

“She would,” Constantine says with a dismissive snort.

And Sam has no idea what’s going on there either. The Hellblazer prevaricates from practically flirting with Cas to being almost mean to him. The flirting itself would be hilarious because Sam can almost see Dean’s teeth grinding down every time. But Sam feels sorry for Castiel as well. Somehow Cas seems to have been dragged into John and Dean’s ongoing hostilities. Like an angelic tug of war toy. And that really doesn’t seem fair. It doesn’t help Sam’s conscience to notice that the angel has been unusually quiet since John arrived. Sam is worried about him but not exactly sure of the best tactic to resolve it yet. Not even totally sure what the actual problem is. And he's distracted trying to defuse the apparent Winchester vs Constantine war that he always seems to get roped into.

Sam had really hoped that telling Dean about John’s little foray to Hell on their behalf, back before the apocalypse, would have made him ease up a bit. Resolved some of that argumentative tension. But if anything he’d just been worse since the reveal. The snarky comments becoming almost constant. The aimless battle of wills ramping up yet another notch. Sam sighs just thinking about it.

“Did Cas, um... say anything?” Dean asks. Is he nervous? What has he done this time? If one of those morons has managed to actually hurt the angel’s feelings Sam is going to be so pissed. Sam is aware that it is a bit irrational to feel defensive of a millennia old heavenly soldier – but he can’t help it. Cas is family. He would be just as pissed if someone hurt Dean - although he thinks that would be harder to do.

“No, not really” Sam says. Letting Dean hear his suspicion. “Should he have?”

“Don’t know,” Dean lies. And yes Sam can tell it’s a lie. But sometimes he just has to pick his battles when it comes to Dean.

“Right,” Sam says. He goes through the motions of making tea. Making himself one too seeing as he’s boiled the water.

“Cheers, mate,” John says when Sam hands him a mug.

“He’s coming back though, right?” Dean asks. He sounds genuinely scared which helps soften Sam's attitude.

“Who?” Sam asks, confused by the question.

“Cas!”

“He better bleeding well come back, he’s got our gui… Zed.” John corrects at the last minute when Chas glares at him.

“Yes he’s coming back, Dean,” Sam says. “Why wouldn’t he?”

Dean just shrugs and focuses on his food.

Sam waits – hoping Dean will suddenly decide to just tell him what’s up. Nothing is forthcoming though. Sam has seen the ways Cas and Dean look at each other. He isn’t blind. And he isn’t jealous. Not really. But if Dean has finally done something about it and fucked it all up Sam’s not sure he wants to be part of that fallout. Not sure he would know how to pick up those pieces. Not sure Dean would even let him.

After a while Dean manages to distract himself and Sam by engaging in an incomprehensible conversation with Chas about the merits of ‘par-boiling potatoes.’ It would be nice, maybe even domestic, if it wasn’t for the ever present tension in the air. Like the static before lighting. Or the way a thread tenses just before it breaks. Sam can feel it in his teeth. He feels like maybe he should be happy - pleased by the distraction from everything else that has been falling down around his ears for months, years even. But he can't shake the feeling that something big is about to happen. That Dean is guilty about something. Something Sam should be able to guess at by now and fix. Feels like he's failing as a brother by not even knowing what's wrong let along how to fix it.

“So, about that lambs blood?” Constantine is saying. Pushes his plate away and cracks his knuckles. “May as well get this show on the road, yeah?”

Chas goes to the fridge and puts the bucket of blood in front of John without being asked. John takes the lid off and Sam can smell it. Yuck. Why does this never get less disgusting?

Dean wanders past Constantine on his way to the sink and looks over the exorcist's shoulder with a grimace. “God, magic’s gross,” Dean says. “I friggin’ hate magic.”

Sam tenses, just in case, when John moves. Smirks over his shoulder and says, “You didn’t say that to Mama Xala.” It brings the exorcist’s face inches from Dean’s and Sam knows his brother doesn’t normally let anyone but himself or Cas get that close. Or, you know, chicks. Sam really doesn’t need this tension boiling over into violence today. Even if Dean was the one to lean over the Hellblazer in the first place – logic doesn’t always come into it if Dean goes into what Sam mental terms ‘compensation mode’.

“Yeah, well, she had nicer tits,” Dean says with an exaggerated leer. “And her ass. That’s the kind of magic I can get behind.”

“Literally,” John says with a smirk. Which somehow gets Dean glaring again too as he continues his mission to the sink.

And, huh? What? Who is Mama Xala anyway? But at least Dean doesn’t do anything other than glare a bit and resume his defensive post near the coffee maker. Whoever she is mentioning her seems to have defused the situation and re-established his brother’s sometimes tentative heterosexuality. So Sam decides he likes her in principle at least.

“Why does it have to be me, again?” Sam asks quickly. Trying to hold on to the moment of peace before the glare evolves. He tries for matter of fact and misses it by half a mile - hits petulant instead.

“Because,” John says, rolling up his sleeves. “Can’t be me or Chas. Golden boy’ll know who’s callin’ and it won’t be binding if we use the angel… that leaves you, mate.”

“What about Dean?” Sam asks. And okay maybe it is a little whiny. But he isn’t the one who pissed off an archangel and got his friend turned into a guinea pig. He’s really not sure he wants to see Gabriel at all let alone summon him.

“Weeeellll,” Constantine drags the word out. Buying time. And glances to Dean, for what? Confirmation?

Dean manages to shrug aggressively. It is such a uniquely _Dean_ gesture that it tugs at Sam’s heart a bit. He forgets he’s annoyed at him for a moment.

“Gabriel’s… observant. And… it’s complicated,” is all John offers. “It’s a delicate spell.” And that didn’t answer anything at all.

Sam sighs. “That’s not an answer.”

“Hellblazer doesn’t answer questions, Sammy,” Dean says with a slightly evil smile. “He just avoids them.”

“Almost as good as not asking ‘em at all, eh Winchester?” John smirks back.

For some reason that makes Dean uncomfortable again or maybe just grumpy? Sam doesn’t know how much more of this he can take. That was what, less than five minutes before they started in on each other. They’re glaring at each other like looks could kill. Maybe Constantine’s can – who knows. That, or they’re going to rip each other’s clothes off. God, Dean would kill him if he knew how often he thought stuff like that. Sam almost laughs at it despite the tension.

“That was one freaking time,” Dean gripes.

“Guys,” Sam snaps.

“Fine, it’s about purity,” John says, surprising them all with further explanation. “It’s easier to purify you than it is to purify him these days… I’m not sure your brother will _qualify_ as human for the binding. That’s why it has to be you. He’s a twat but he’s still an archangelic twat. That means no cock ups. That means you.”

There are several beats of silence. It reminds Sam of learning to string a bow. Tying the line too taught and feeling it flex hard before it snapped. Sam’s mind keeps running over the word _human_. He fixed Dean. Didn’t he? He cured him. That’s over. It’s got to be. But what else could Constantine mean? How could anyone be less pure than Sam? The boy with the demon blood. Sam doesn't think he can go through loosing Dean again. Not to that thing. Not after everything.

“Right,” Dean says. Ice cold and vicious. Shit. Sam had been too distracted by his own thoughts to notice Dean's reaction. Sam sees Chandler take a defensive stance but no one else moves. At least Sam and Chas are both bigger than their respective combatants. Sam can hear the Mark in Dean’s voice even if his next words make no actual sense, “Human never was your type, was it _Hellblazer_?” Dean spits out.

“You sure you wanna have this chat ‘ere, luv?” Constantine drawls. Like he has no idea how dangerous Dean can be. Like this isn’t a threat. Like he hadn’t just suggested the man he’s still half-teasing is still half-demon. Like it’s all still a game. But Sam knows better. Knows Dean better.

“Pretty fucking sure I want to know what you meant?” Dean says. Leans into John’s space aggressively. Fuck. This is not going well.

“Don’t start, Winchester,” Constantine says putting a hand out to one side in an odd gesture. Almost like he’s about to hug his attacker. “You know what I bleeding well meant. And I think you want to talk about it almost as much as I do. Which is t’ say, not at all. So, don’t- fucking- start-”

Then the miracle occurs. Dean actually _does_ relax a bit. “Fine,” he says and backs off with a huffed sigh. Fuck. Sam really needs to learn that trick.

“Besides,” John says while he lights a cigarette. “If Gabe’s gotta thing for Chas then he’s probably got a thing for Sammy boy too. Can’t hurt.”

Chandler looks taken aback and Sam can feel himself blush. But Dean just laughs like he’s never heard anything funnier. Sam expected confusion or more aggression, maybe even a bit of misplaced protectiveness. But somehow he’s just back to normal big brother levels of asshole for the day. Sam couldn’t be more grateful. Even if he is about to get covered in blessed lambs’ blood and herbs.

Sam’s had worse weekends.

0oOo0

Of course the truce doesn’t last.

Dean and John are soon back to snarking and arguing about nothing. And Sam is back to wanting to throttle one or both just to escape.

Sam is in the middle of the library, stripped to the waist and covered in the mystical blood mixture when Cas comes back inside. The purification or whatever it was is finished and John, who is bloody to the elbow, is washing off in a large brass bowl. Dean is glaring at him like he finds the act of hand washing personally offensive. And Sam is so fed up.

“Hello Sam,” Cas greets. “Charles, John… Dean.”

And that’s odd. Sam can hear something in his voice. Discomfort maybe? Shit. He’s even avoiding Dean’s eyes. Which he never does. Sam has had to spend almost five years watching them eye-fuck at every opportunity. He knows for certain that Cas does not avoid Dean’s gaze even in life or death situations. What the fuck has Dean done to the poor guy.

“Ah, ‘ullo Thursday,” John says, half-turning to face the angel. “You mind testin’ me work? See if you can touch old Sam here?”

Chas puts a marker in his book and gets up to collect Zed from Castiel’s arms. After saying goodbye to the guinea pig Cas approaches Sam cautiously and reaches out a hand like he’s going to heal him. Then he grimaces and pulls his hand back. “That was surprisingly painful,” Cas says.

“Excellent!” Constantine says and rubs his now clean hands together before lighting yet another cigarette. Sam’s pretty sure the guy is going to die of lung cancer long before any demon takes him down.

“Hey,” Dean says. “Don’t use him like your personal guinea… um. Don’t experiment on him.”

“Relax mate,” John scoffs. “No harm done, right Thursday?”

“John is correct,” Cas confirms. “I am unharmed. It was more surprising than anything. I couldn’t sense the warding until I was touching it.”

Dean snorts derisively. Like he can’t take the angel’s word about his own safety. Like he’s going to start yet another pointless and only semi-comprehensible argument with Constantine.

And god, Sam is done. He is going to snap if he doesn’t get a break from this nonsense.

“Dean,” Sam says. “We’ve got hours yet but this is a really complex circle for us. Why don’t you head out to the barn and start prepping while I clean up here?”

He knows it’s an obvious ploy. But he just hopes Dean wants to avoid Cas enough that he’ll give in. It’s selfish. He should try and get them to talk about it. Or something. But he shouldn’t push his luck either – he knows how hard Dean fights against any even potentially emotional confrontation. He’ll wait until they get rid of John and Chas (and Zed too he supposes). Then he’ll try deal with whatever it is that has got Cas and Dean all twisted about. One thing at a time. And right now he needs Dean out of his hair and a break from the constant antagonism.

“Sure,” Dean says. “Where’s the spray paint?” Pushes himself off the wall dramatically.

“Green duffel in my room,” Sam says. Surprised by Dean’s easy acquiescence.

Sam breaths a subtle sigh of relief when Dean leaves the room without any argument at all. That was easier than expected. Thank fucking god. At this point Sam will just be happy if they deal with all this and get rid of Constantine without anyone getting burned with Hellfire.

John catches Castiel’s arm and pulls him aside. Sam can’t hear what they’re talking about but he wonders if it has anything to do which whatever has crawled up Dean’s ass today. Wonders if the Hellblazer will make it better or worse?

Dean walks back into the room a few minutes later with his jacket on and the green duffel bag over his shoulder. Plays with his keys.

“You coming or what?” Dean demands.

At first Sam thinks he’s talking to Cas but then he realizes that, no, he’s talking to Constantine. The very man that Sam was trying to give him some much needed space from. Seriously, Dean? Sam is pretty sure this is exactly what incredulous feels like.

“Yeah, yeah,” John says like this is the most expected thing in the world. “Chas, mate, you seen me coat?”

“Back of the chair. Right next to you.” Chas points out mildly. He has Zed perched on his shoulder and sniffling his hair.

“Ah, ta,” John balances his cigarette between his lips and grabs the tan trench coat. “See ya in a bit, lads.”

Sam knows he’s staring but he can’t help it. Because, what? They’ve been at each other’s throats all frigging day and now they’re just wandering off to paint sigils all over a barn together for hours like it’s nothing. And sure, objectively it makes sense; take the magus with you to paint the circle. But on every other level it is ridiculous.

“Dean,” Cas says moving as though he might follow them.

“Not now Cas… I…” Dean looks at the angel, lost for a moment. “Soon, okay? I promise. I’ll explain soon. Just… not now, okay?”

Cas nods. Accepts whatever Dean throws at him, as usual.

And there is so much going on there that Sam has missed; he feels like he’s intruding on something just by seeing it. There’s something meaningful in that promise but Sam can’t quite put his finger on it. Maybe they really are finally going to… maybe? But Sam’s thought that before too. And they never do.

Constantine is slouched in the doorway, watching the exchange with interest. Dean pulls away from Cas and almost shoves John in front of him on the way out of the room.

Sam doesn’t hear what John asks but he hears Dean’s reply. It’s the Winchester mantra. “I’m _fine_.”

“Should we…” Sam half asks Chas. Makes a vague hand motion towards the departed hunter and Hellblazer. Not even really sure what his question is.

“It’s been 16 years,” Chas says, as though that’s an answer. Manages some kind of fond shrug. “If they were going to kill each other they’d have done it by now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've left Gabriel and Sam's relationship purposefully ambiguous so you can read it whichever way you prefer.


	3. Dean finds out something he really didn't want to know

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this one got away from me and the rating is going up. Oops.
> 
> Warning for mild BDSM. Safe, sane, and consensual - basically just restraints and a bit of manhandling and a tiny bit of knife-play (all from Dom perspective and mild). Also barebacking and other inadvisable choices made in the heat of the moment. 
> 
> It's all pretty light stuff (in my opinion). But for those that want to skip this chapter I’ll put a summary in the end notes.

Dean is still on edge. He spent all day waiting for the fallout that still hasn’t come. He’d practically run out of the place when Sam offered him the flimsiest of excuses.

They are ostensibly scoping out and preparing a location to summon Gabriel. A mostly abandoned barn about two hours out from the Men of Letters’ Bunker in Lebanon. It was still far too close to home as far as Dean was concerned. But he’d been overruled by geekier minds. So here he was. Alone with the Hellblazer in the middle of nowhere. The current outcome was inevitable really.

Neither of them are good at talking. Not really talking. Dean knew he shut down. Or covered any real emotion with jokes. Hid in his work or his car. John was the opposite but just as bad. He rambled. Long monologues about his hatred for the world without ever touching the real subject. Or distracted everyone with tricks. Both of them spoke a lot but neither of them really _said_ anything.

But this? This was easier. This was real. You could say things with skin and teeth that words couldn’t touch. Sweat slick and lust rough. Taut to trembling. Canting hips and catching breath. Pain and pleasure swirling together in an intoxicating concoction of body to body contact. Panting and ragged with desire. Each desperate push and frantic kiss saying more than a soliloquy could.

The barn smells like ancient hay, mouldering wood and spray paint. Dean hopes they haven’t smudged the ridiculously complex circle. Because of course they’re in the freaking middle of it. “We’re bindin’ an angel – a bit of desecration won’t hurt the spell Winchester. Less talking, more shagging, yeah?” Constantine had muttered while pulling off Dean’s shirt. So that was that. They lost all the shirts twenty minutes ago. And at some point Dean took control. He’s vaguely aware that he’s a lot bigger and stronger than he was last time they did anything like this. He could actually force the point now – not that he would but it’s scary to know he could. But Constantine just gives ground, easily for once.

They’re still standing but only just. Both on edge, trembling to frantic and kissing like it might be their last. Dean grabs the older guy’s wrist suddenly and uses it to spin him with one arm pinned to his back. Dean is pressed in tight against his spine now and breathing hard. The other arm, free to roam, reaches back to grip Dean’s thigh and pull him in even closer. Demanding son of a bitch. Dean can taste sweat and smoke as he bites and kisses along one shoulder.

“You remember the…” Dean starts to say.

“Kansas,” Constantine says the safeword with a breathy laugh. “Like the band, _not_ the state.”

Dean hides a smile in the man’s neck. Remembers his much younger self choosing it and using the same qualifier in a mirror reversal of this very scene. Though he’s pretty sure it was a church not a barn.

“I remember. I’m not _that_ old, Winchester,” Constantine says voice lust dark again. “Now get _on_ with it, yeah?”

“Is that a fucking challenge, Hellblazer?” Dean says tugging Constantine even closer with a rough jerk of his arm.

“That’s me usual intention, mate,” Constantine smirks back. Because the bastard just _can’t_ turn it off.

Dean tightens his grip enough to bruise. He doesn’t push it too far, though. Not yet. But if there is anyone out there he can risk the Mark with it is the man currently pressing back into him with a hell-tinged grin. Somewhere deep and demon black he even kind of wants it to happen. Wants the violent blood rush to take over. Wants to watch from the inside as he pushes his luck too far. Taste the Hellfire and just fucking burn. Let the Hellblazer take care of the problem Cas won’t – in more ways than one.

He slides his free hand around to pull off demonologist’s belt. Bites down into Constantine’s shoulder as he does so and listens for the tell-tale catch of breath that says he’s hit the mark. Kisses a soft line across the welts from his teeth before sinking in again. That’s gonna bruise. Ruts in so John can feel how devastatingly hard he is. Threat, thanks, and promise all in one. Gets another satisfyingly hitched breath for it before pulling the belt free in one fluid motion.

Dean pulls back just far enough to get both of Constantine’s arms behind his back now and pull them tight with the recently claimed belt. Misses the contact momentarily but knows the pay-off will be worth it. He pulls off his own belt and uses it to double the binding higher on Constantine’s arms. ‘ _Make ‘em nice and tight, love’_ Dean remembers the decade old instruction and gives one last tug on the makeshift strap. Constantine is pliant, grunts and shifts with the movement but doesn’t stumble.

Sweat cools on Dean’s chest in the night air and Constantine shivers for a moment in front of him, part anticipation and part chill. Dean dives back in with startling speed. Licks a hot stripe up the Hellblazer’s spine before biting down on that sensitive spot on the very back of his neck. Gets a bitten off sound of pleasure for his trouble.

Constantine moves with him as he presses in, fumbles with the guy’s fly. And _really_ who wears dress slacks to paint a summoning circle anyway? But soon he’s pushing away the fabric and traces his fingers across blood hard and sex hot skin; earns another sweet gasp before moving away. Winding one hand into the restraining leather. Glides the other away from the exorcist’s cock and runs it torturously slow up his side. Delicately over the throat, lingers at the jaw, then, finally digs into messy blond hair and pulls. Hard and sharp. At odds with the previous teasing tenderness. Forces them into a slightly awkward over the shoulder kiss. Suddenly, and utterly unrestrained. Pressing in hard. All teeth and tongue and touch.

He ends up pulling them both to the ground. Sinking to his knees and yanking Constantine down with him. He hasn’t quite pulled the Hellblazer into his lap but it’s close. He lets go so he can rake his nails up the exorcist’s thighs – hard enough to leave red welts. So hard he draws blood on one side. Gets a cut off whimper and John leaning back into his bare chest. He’s so hard it fucking hurts but he doesn’t move to take off his jeans or even undo them just yet. Uses the rough scratch of denim against skin to drive his companion closer to the endless edge. Enjoys the verge of pain a bit himself, really.

Dean looks around. Their various top layers a strewn around the barn. Constantine’s shirt and tie lie over the makeshift altar. His own plaid over-shirt abandoned by the south wards - where this all started. And his tee-shirt not far to their right. But no sign of his jacket. He frowns.

Damn it. Did he leave it in the car? He had promised himself never to go _anywhere_ alone with John unprepared. He learned _that_ lesson hot and hard ten years ago in Georgia.

“Have you seen my…”

“Holy oil,” Constantine says between panted breaths. Dean digs his nails in again just to hear it catch. Then uses one arm to wrap around the demonologist’s chest and hold him in place giving Dean unrestricted access to his neck and ear. Little biting kisses just to keep things going while they have this ridiculous conversation _now_ and not half an hour ago, like normal people would have back when everyone was dressed.

“You sure?” Dean says, can’t help sounding dubious even between scattered kisses. Because what the fuck?

They’ve probably done weirder things but he’s having trouble thinking of any right now. Dean doesn’t even know what’s in the stuff just knows that it smells sickly sweet and spicy. And, yeah okay, that it tingles a bit when it touches the skin. There’s only about three people in the world that know how to make it. Admittedly one of them is John Constantine – who probably made this batch come to think of it. Dean _had_ asked once and Constantine just told him he really didn’t want to know. That isn’t a comforting thought.

Constantine arches back, winces as it pulls the restraints, until his head falls onto Dean’s shoulder. So Dean kisses him. Softer than he should for this kind of thing. Because he’s there. And they’re alone. And why the fuck not. He smells like ash, herbs and skin but tastes like hell hot promise.

He nips at Dean’s lip once more before breaking the kiss. Looks the hunter in the eye, searching for something. And Dean just knows he’s going to either love or hate what comes next. Maybe both. He _knows_ that look. Constantine is about to lay something on the line and he didn’t quite trust Dean to tell him his real reaction. It is telling that John Constantine gives the exact same calculating look to lovers, ghosts and demons.

“ _I’m_ clean as a whistle, luv” John says with a smirk. “Good ol’ Nergal left me immune to a lot…” he shrugs it off, as usual. Like he isn’t offering (asking for?) what he is offering. And, _shit_. Dean hadn’t even _thought_ about that. Holy oil is _oil_ after all – it would totally weaken latex. Constantine’s still talking but Dean’s mind has raced ahead. “Checked for the rest after Mexico… so…” Dean half hears him trail off. Realises a response of some kind is going to have to happen. He blinks instead.

It’s another one of those situations where if you looked at it from the outside Dean is absolutely in control. He’s still way more dressed, he has Constantine tied up on his knees on the barn floor for fuck sake. But he feels like that stupid kid picked up by a legend in a bar – not completely sure about the rules and no idea what he’s about to get himself into. Hellblazer always manages to find new ways to pull the fucking rug out from under him.

He’s hardly ever gone bareback, at least not human. Only a few times with Lisa who wasn’t that into it; didn’t like the mess and really didn’t want to risk another kid. Other than her it had never been reasonable. Everyone else he has been with was a random hook-up or damn close to it. Never worth the risk. Dean Winchester is very fond of his junk.

But apparently his body thinks the idea of barebacking the Hellblazer sounds pretty damn good. The thought of it alone is enough to have his cock twitching even further to attention. Sends a ripple of hot tension through him. He reminds himself that the first rule of dealing with John Constantine is ‘never trust the son of a bitch’. But he also suspects there is some stuff he can trust him with. Hell he’s trusted him with this, whatever it is, for years.

“Yeah, sure,” Dean hears himself say. “Me too, I mean…”

He even knows for sure - had to get tested after the whole being a fricking demon thing. Because seriously, Crowley? Not to mention all the other random hook-ups. What had his demon self been thinking? He looks at the squirming Brit currently trapped against his chest, and okay, fine maybe he wasn’t actually doing much better. But at least Constantine isn’t _currently_ a demon or, you know, King of fucking Hell. Might be one day though…

Constantine bites his arm then. Hard. Right next to that god damned Mark. Dean flinches.

“Don’t,” Dean says automatically.

“Make me,” Constantine smirks back.

Oh yeah. That. And that was totally part of it wasn’t it. There’s a pure dominating edge to it, isn’t there. Being fucked. Marked. Claimed. Kinky son of a bitch. Dean can feel his blood run hot again.

He leans in as close as he can get. “I think I fucking might,” he whispers into the Hellblazer’s ear. Lets a little of the rack into his voice. Talks to the man in his arms like he’s a monster. Maybe they both are. Watches the way it makes the exorcist shudder then pushes off sharply. Pushes himself to his feet and goes over to the altar. Leaves John on the floor watching him.

Dean grabs the holy oil and, upon seeing Constantine’s reaction when his hand brushed it, the silver ritual knife as well. Puts the blade between his teeth and winks. Gets a glare in return. They both know he can’t really do much though. Can’t risk breaking the skin and getting one or both of them bloody – they’ve only got a few hours left and there is only so much he can explain away. But there’s still the tease in it. Constantine is really into that slice and burn kind of pain. It isn’t really Dean’s thing, he prefers it blunt and bruising, push and bite, but he absolutely _gets_ it. And he knows how to play the edge of it. Very few people this side of Hell know even half as much about blades and pain and power as the once righteous Dean Winchester.

He slips back into character. Because that’s what this is. It’s no different than any other seductive dance. It’s just another hunger begging to be fed. Another little half-lie and half-truth in his smile. And there’s a freaky kind of purity here; walking this fine line between too much and not enough. One he can’t really walk with anyone else.

He drops to his knees again in front of the bound man. Knife in his teeth. Holds eye contact. And when you’ve seen Hell, real Hell with a capital H, it scars you. Leaves its mark in your eyes and on your soul. It’s fucking terrifying. Maybe worse than demon black because it’s a painful and human kind of evil. But in this particular moment Hellfire meets Hellfire and burns nothing but anticipation.

Dean puts down the carafe and digs his fingers into Constantine’s hair again. He can do this. Put one freak-out aside for now and focus on the moment in front of him. Half climbs into the guy’s lap. Pressing rough denim to delicate lust hard flesh. Takes the blade out of his teeth and presses it against one of the Hellblazer’s ribs. Cold silver to desire hot skin. Constantine’s eyes half close and Dean can’t help grinning at that. He digs the blade in a little deeper, almost enough to break the skin but not quite. Then he kisses him again. A confusion of soft and sharp sensation that makes the Hellblazer moan into him.

And Dean turns the kiss itself indulgent and slow. Even as his grip stays firm and painful in blond hair and he scrapes the blade along the exorcist’s rib line. Constantine lets him. Doesn’t fight it, doesn’t bite or buck up. Doesn’t force it rough again. Even though Dean can feel the tension in him. Knows how hard and rough he wants it. Dean will give it to him. Soon. But right now he needs the contrast. The reminder that this is a give game. That they’re about as far from Hell as either of them ever gets (which isn’t far but it’s far enough).

At least Sammy will never know about _this_. Dean might have to admit to ‘yeah sometimes I go a bit Brokeback, so what’ - but Sam will never have to know how much Dean pushes at the edge of Hell sometimes. So close he can almost smell the sulfur sting. How many skills he never lost. He digs the tip of blade in and twists. It’ll hurt more than it bleeds. A sharp stinging gouge of feeling distinct from all the other pleasure singed nerves where their bodies meet and writhe against each other.

“Oh god,” it’s Constantine’s voice. A whisper. Almost a whimper. Soft breath against a soft kiss.

Dean grins and pulls back enough to respond. “I’m really not,” Dean says with an approximation of the Hellblazer’s own smug expression.

“You sure, mate?” Constantine manages.

“Pretty damned sure,” Dean says and sinks back in to bite and suck away his smile into John’s neck.

He runs the knife blade all the way up Constantine’s chest and neck then, flicking it away at the tip of his chin. Discards it, ignores the offended look from Constantine, in favour of dragging his nails in on the way back down instead. He likes that better anyway – it’s more immediate. He can feel the skin tug and pull against his fingers. Fell the blood rush to the surface leaving hot trails behind his touch. Gets a hand between their bodies and takes hold of the Hellblazer’s cock. Leaving bruising bites on his chest in time with each caress.

“Actually, you’re right,” Constantine mumbles between panting and arching up into Dean’s touch. “Should’a known better... fuck…” he cants forward as Dean lets go of his hair and scratches into his back right across the fire ward. Knows it’s linked to Constantine’s magic and it’ll burn. “You’re a lot better… christ… lookin’ for a start.”

Dean isn’t really paying attention to the words. Listening for tone and pace of breath more than meaning. So it takes his brain a few seconds to catch up. He’s reaching for the holy oil when the implication clicks into place.

“You have got to be freaking kidding me?” Dean says. Leaning back so he can look the Hellblazer in the eye.

“What?” John asks. Confused by the sudden stillness.

“Did you just say that I’m better looking than God?” Dean clarifies. Says each word with clear disbelieving purpose. “Implying that you know what God looks like?”

“God, Yahweh, Jehovah, Allah, et cetera? That’s the wanker… Why’ve you stopped? ‘Cause I don’t know if you noticed but I was bloody enjoying that, mate. ”

“ _You_ found God?” Dean asks. Ignores the rest. Because seriously? What the fuck?

“Well, I wouldn’t say _found_ , exactly…” Constantine manages to shrug despite still having his arms tied behind his back. “I wouldn’t worry about it, luv. He’s a cunt…”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“There was an apocalypse on, for a start. And I was dyin’ of bloody lung cancer,” he rolls his eyes at Dean’s shocked expression. “Don't start. It’s all better now but it's a long sodding story, mate. And _now_ ain’t exactly the best time for it neither.” He sounds freaking tired all of a sudden.

Constantine flexes his arms again and looks pointedly at their entwined limbs to demonstrate his reasoning. And Dean knows there is a whole lot more to the story. But he also knows the Hellblazer is right for once. Now is _seriously_ not the right time for this conversation. Or any conversation really. He can feel himself giving in. Damn it.

“Just… don’t tell Cas?” Dean says. “Please.” Defeated, he lets his forehead rest against Constantine’s. Because really that would be worse than any other outcome from this whole tawdry thing. Cas knowing for sure that his dad was out there and just didn’t fucking care enough to come when he called. Knowing he’d show up for the damned Hellblazer and not an angel? Dean can’t watch that happen. He can still remember that broken look in the angel’s eyes. It’s something he just can't do again.

“Wasn’t planning on it luv,” Constantine says, presses up into a chaste kiss. “Now, do you mind if we get back to the whole fucking me into a floor thing? I was _rather_ looking forward to it. Even if you are too stingy to invite the angel.”

Dean laughs. “You met freaking _God_ and you still want to try _double team_ an angel? Seriously?”

“Yes," Constantine says like it was frigging obvious. "But not right now. Right now, you- fucking me- blasphemous use of blessed substances. Yeah?”

The grin is back. All Hellfire hot and self-destructively indulgent. And damn it if that isn’t all it takes to get Dean right back on board. Why does this guy make him so fucking weak?

He tries to kiss away the tension. Hot, and slick, and heavy with pent up frustration. And Constantine opens up to him. Lets him push right in. Lets him say everything with a kiss the he doesn’t know how to in words. Responds in kind. Bucks up into his erstwhile captor and kisses back with frantic intent. Eventually, when he can feel the Hellblazer’s interest is back on track and pressing into his thigh, Dean breaks the kiss; leaving Constantine panting again.

“Who the hell says _I’m_ fucking _you_?” Dean says with a wink.

“Bloody hell, Winchester,” Constantine glares up at him. Almost looks genuinely offended – except Dean knows him too well to fall for it. “You can’t just tie a bloke up and use ‘em as a sodding human sex toy!”

“Mmm, I could,” Dean says. Files that idea away for later. “But I won’t. At least, not _now_.” He leans in to whisper, “as long as you’re very, very good.” Nips at the exorcist’s ear for emphasis.

Dean bends backwards to grab the oil – knows exactly what it looks like. Hears a muffled whimper and another beautiful catch of breath as his denim clad ass brushes sensitive skin. Sits back up in one fluid motion and pulls the stopper out with his teeth. Likes the way the Hellblazer tracks every stretch of movement. Breathing back to the heavy uncontrolled pace that Dean was striving for all along. The hunter pours some of the fragrant oil onto his hand and rubs it between his fingers. Puts the bottle down just within reach but not so close they’ll fall on it (because really how would he explain _that_ one to Sam). It does have a pretty nice slide to it and it heats slightly under friction. Maybe this will work after all.

He tosses the cork aside with a flick of his head. “What do you think, Hellblazer?” Dean says tone all the way back to seductive now. “You think John Constantine knows how to be a good boy?”

“Not on your bloody life, mate.” Constantine’s smirk is an ice hot challenge. Dean can’t help but rise to it – just like he always does.

Bends down into another crushing kiss, wraps his free hand around the Hellblazer’s neck and slides the oil slick one between the man’s sweat cooled thighs. Of course Dean gives bastard just what he wants – just like he _always_ does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, in this chapter Dean and Johnny C start to have ridiculously kinky sex (sorry I got carried away) and John hints at my version of the events of Hellblazer #128 in which John met God and basically threatened him with John ruling Hell if him and his crew remain damned (after John sold his soul) - so it is HB canon that Johnny C basically manipulates God into breaking a deal with Satan. 
> 
> In this 'verse of course that means John met and somehow recognized Chuck then manipulated him into something. Aww, bless, it's a plot bunny!
> 
> Also, the 'oh god' to 'pretty damn sure' exchange is a call back to a similar exchange (reversed) in [Whiskey Burning](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2829158). 
> 
> Um, yeah I don't know why that took 3700 words either... Feel free to go tell me off on [Tumblr](http://kittyaugust.tumblr.com/) or something.


	4. Gabriel is even more unimpressed than Sam

Sam feels better. A lot better actually.

He was allowed to wash off the blood thankfully. Although he did have to let it dry first which was really freaking gross. But he is clean now. And strangely calm too. He suspects it is a residual effect from the purification spell. It kind of reminds him of the Trials just without the whole throwing up blood and dying part. At least the abnormal calm is helping him deal with the stupid rivalry that is still playing out in front of him.

“Sure you don’t wanna stay outside Winchester,” John is saying. Baiting the beast. “Stay away from the big bad archangel?”

“Fuck you, Constantine,” Dean says.

Constantine, who is slightly ahead of them on the path back up to the barn, turns so he’s walking backwards. “Don't be like that, Winchester. You know _I want you around_ ,” John says, smirking. Which makes no sense to Sam but holds some meaning to Dean.

Then Dean… well Sam’s not really sure how to describe it. It looks like he’s going to grin but he turns it at the last moment. Bares his teeth and sort of snarls in an aggressively animalistic gesture that really has Sam worried. He knew this break from that frigging Mark was too good to be true.

Constantine just continues to push his luck though by winking at Dean before turning back around and swaggering into the barn.

They keep doing stuff like this that Sam just doesn’t _get_. It obviously means something but he can’t quite figure out what. Sam has to wonder just how many cases they worked together while he was at Stanford. Dean doesn’t like to talk about that period in their lives – sees it as Sam abandoning him. And Sam knows he could have handled it better back then but he was just an angry messed up kid. He had resented his dad, and even Dean, resented their whole life. He needed to try it on his own. Needed to escape. At 18 he hadn’t understood what it meant to be a hunter. Hadn’t understood what doing what they do really _meant_. And certainly hadn’t understood what he had in his family – no matter how messed up. Hadn’t realized the only way out was _down_.

He can’t make it better though. He can’t go back in time and fix it (knows it would just turn out the same even if he tried). So he does the best he can. He Winchester’s up and pretends it didn’t happen. Most of the time he just lets Dean ignore four years of their lives. But he’s starting to think maybe he should have pushed sooner. If Dean met the Keeper of the Green and did cases with John frigging Constantine without mentioning it what else is he keeping from Sam? What else is he keeping from himself? Sam tries to shake off his concern and get back to the task at hand.

But of course that is easier said than done. There are more incidents the moment they get inside. It just gets worse once they’re actually finishing the internal warding and prepping the spell.

After the third correction Chas asks John why he doesn’t just get up the ladder and finish to door frame himself.

“Nah, can’t be buggered mate,” Constantine says cheerfully.

“Yes, you _can_ ,” Dean answers in a snarky undertone, almost instantly. Like he’s been waiting for the chance.

What the hell? Sam glares at his brother with as much disapproval as he can muster. Dean just shrugs. He isn’t exactly politically correct but he isn’t usually outright homophobic. Sam wonders if whatever happened with Cas is causing this explicit hostility. Maybe he can apologize and try to explain the situation to John later? ‘My brother isn’t actually a bigoted asshole, he’s just in love with a dude.’ Yeah, he might need to work on that one a bit.

Chas actually laughs but has the decency to look away. Which doesn’t help. Of course Chas seemed to be under the impression that Dean and John were up to something this morning. Which would change the whole tone of that exchange into something totally inappropriate in a whole different way. Sam frowns. Eww.

“Sod off Winchester,” John says. But he’s laughing and doesn’t look offended so there’s that. God, Sam cannot wait to have all this over and done with. Wonders if he is the only adult there and if can just physically separate them.

0oOo0

The spell itself is deceptively simple.

Sam staggers forward from the force when Gabriel lands and the spell releases - he can physically feel the energy drain out of him to power it. Fuck. He was not expecting that. Dean catches his arm and glares at Constantine. Which, okay, probably fair seeing as it was his spell, but Sam sighs anyway.

“Sammich, how’s it… _Sam_? Why am I in a binding circle?” Gabriel turns slowly to take in the rest of the room. “Johnny C, I should have fucking known.”

“Mornin’ squire,” John says. Steps out of the shadows and drops his cigarette into the circle of holy oil setting the whole intricate pattern alight.

“That was unnecessarily dramatic,” Gabriel says with an unnecessarily dramatic full body eye-roll.

“S’pose. But so’s that,” John says with a smile and points to Zed where she rests in Chas’s arms next to him.

“What can I say, I’m just doing my job!” Gabriel grins back. He looks like he’s enjoying this way too much.

“You’re an archangel, mate – your job is sittin’ around looking intimidating and waiting for daddy to come home. Not turning innocent psychics into bloody rodents!”

“Eh, I get bored,” Gabriel says. “And anyway, I’m not the one who knowingly let her try and summon ‘Loki’ now am I, _squire_.”

“You owe me, Gabriel.” John’s tone is starting to turn more menacing but the archangel appears to ignore it.

“Duh - that’s why I’m helping! Rising darkness, apocalyptic blah blah blah, South American cults, et cetera.”

“This is not sodding helping, _turn her back_.”

“Hmmmm… no,” Gabriel says after pretending to think about it for all of four seconds. Spins to face Sam and Dean instead. “Soooo, Winchesters huh?”

“We thought you were dead,” Sam says taking that as his que. Ignores the glare from Constantine.

“Puh-lease,” Gabriel says then shrugs and turns a little more serious. “Turns out Dad wasn’t much of a fan of the apocalypse either. So, you know... ta da!”

“Have you found Him?” Castiel steps forward at last prompted by the mention of God. He sounds so softly hopeful that Sam can’t help but hurt for him a little.

Sam feels Dean tense up next to him – like he’s about to be hit. Which is… odd. Sam has always had more faith than the rest of his little family. Always had the luxury of it he realizes. But even he is pretty sure God is gone. The world is just too broken for any other explanation.

“Nah,” Gabriel says brushing it off. But Sam thinks he sees something there. That same hopeful hopelessness that he’s seen in Cas. Even seen it in Dean back when they were looking for their own dad come to think of it.

“As touching as all this is,” Constantine interrupts, glancing at Dean of all people. “Can we stop pissing about and get back to the whole Zed not being a sodding guinea pig bit, yeah?”

“I dunno, I’m kinda enjoying the whole family reunion vibe,” Gabe says with another mischievous grin. And oh no, Sam recognizes that grin. It’s the one he gets before doing something either really devious or really insane. Maybe both. Damn it. “You boys know that whole vessel thing is _hereditary_ right?”

“So?” Dean says aggressively. And yeah, Sam agrees with the word if not the tone. What’s so special about that? They already knew that from the whole Winchester breeding program thing. But Constantine is staring at the archangel like he’s considering running him through with an angel blade just to avoid whatever comes next.

“ _So_ , Deanosaur, I mean to say that you and Johnny boy are _related_ ” Gabriel says with his cat that got the cream smirk. "Just your type."

“What?” Dean and John say in unison. Okay that is actually pretty funny from the outside. Dean looks like he’s going to be sick and Constantine just looks a bit more murderous. And, hang on, what?

“Once-removed in 1765,” Castiel interrupts with an oddly human sigh. “Lord George Constantine married Miss Harriet Campbell in 1763. Issued Lady Johanna Constantine in 1765. Lady Harriet’s brother, Mr John Samuel Campbell, left for America that same year. It's not exactly a close relation.”

Dean visibly relaxes. Sam is pretty sure he hears him whisper some kind of expletive under his breath too. Sam frowns. Because he gets what Gabriel is implying and it doesn’t seem to matter how far back the connection is for John to be a vessel.

“Oh Cassie, you’re no fun,” Gabriel accuses. “Thought that particular seed of dissension would have been in your best interests too. You never were good at self-preservation were you bro?”

Cas just frowns.

“Hang on,” Sam says. “Are you implying…” he trails off. Not sure if he should be rising to the bait. Not sure if he even wants to know. But not sure if he wants to be alone with this burden anymore either.

“Well, where do you think the _Hellblazer_ gets all that hellfire from, huh?” Gabriel says realizing what Sam was trying to ask. “Same place you did Sammy - dose or three of demon blood and some angelically aided eugenics. Voila. Perfect vessel for the Morningstar.”

And with the confirmation Sam can feel his world tilt and shift. He’d known there were other vessels of course. They’d seen Nick. But demon blood? He thought all the other tainted children were dead. And Constantine is at least ten years older than him. It doesn’t make sense. It didn’t…

“Hey, Sammy,” Dean’s voice breaks through the spinning in his head. “Not now, Sam.”

Dean has come in close both hands on Sam’s shoulders. Trying to ground him. Sam looks into his brother’s eyes… and remembers. After he ganked Samhain psychically. The fight afterwards. Dean shouting at him. ‘ _So, what? You’re the next frigging Hellblazer now?_ ’ It kind of made sense at the time. He hadn’t thought much of it. But suddenly it has a double meaning. A triple meaning.

“You knew?” Sam says. Hurt for some reason he still can’t place.

“Some,” Dean says. Grimaces. Tries to play it off. And Sam knows he has to pull it together. Knows that Dean needs him to be the strong one at the moment. So he nods instead of shouting.

“Sam, old son,” John says without taking his eyes of Gabriel. “We can have a real long chat about it all, but _after_ we finish with the git in the flaming circle, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Sam says. "Yeah, sure." Taking a deep breath. Dean steps away when he thinks Sam has it under control. Or as under control as he ever thinks Sam can get anyway.

“Hmph, booooring,” Gabriel whines from the center of the circle. “Though I must say this is a better job than last time Johnny. Swapping in fresh bait, open summons then trigger the binding on impact. It was a real good effort. Almost lived up to the rep. But unfortunately for you kid, you forgot that you can’t _trick_ a trickster. And _this_ is getting dull.”

Gabriel makes a faux sympathetic expression. Snaps his fingers and… Stays put. Chas laughs – the first sound he’s made since this all started. Gabriel just looks furious.

“Looks like you’re not the only trickster in the room, mate,” John says back to smug and self-assured.

“You arrogant bastard,” Gabriel spits out. Changes like lightning from calm and amused to hot fury in seconds. “And you wonder why you need to be brought down a peg or three. You little…”

“You an’ Johnny Cash were mates, right?” Constantine interrupts. Gabriel glares at him and half nods his assent. “Well, I might be the long tongued liar but your cunt of a father in’t _never_ gonna cut me down. And you sure as Hell aren’t either.” Sam can hear the capital letter. The reminder of what he is. What they all are. Just how high these stakes could go.

“I’m not some petty little demon, John. You don’t scare me, Hellblazer,” Gabriel says.

“Well I should,” John responds. Pulls out his cell phone of all things. Grins at the erstwhile Trickster. “I’m the one with a certain succubus on speed dial, mate.”

“Oh if we’re playing that game then _I’m_ the one who knows the true parentage of a certain English cambion _and_ where you’ve hidden her, Johnny.” Gabriel steps right up to the flame’s edge. Real threat in his golden eyes now.

And that’s the threat that does it. John flicks his wrist out to one side and there it is. The reason for the nickname. Hellfire. Greasy and sulfuric. Sam has to fight to breathe through smokeless terror. He hasn’t seen that kind of fire in a very long time.

To Sam’s surprise it is Dean, not Chas, who rushes forward, reaches out and pulls the Hellblazer back from attacking Gabriel. Leaves Cas to notice his potential panic and place a hand on Sam's shoulder. Dean grabs John by his elbows and manhandles him back from the fire’s edge. Hisses something Sam can't hear.

Sure he doesn’t have an arm full of guinea pig like Chas does but he was further away. And honestly Sam wasn’t sure he would care enough about either Gabe or John enough to stop the attack. But Dean actually reacted even faster than Chas. He was moving almost as soon as Gabriel got the words out. Dean has a firm hold on Constantine’s arms and whispers harshly in his ear. Whatever he says it’s enough to calm the guy down. A bit. They exchange a few more words then John snaps his wrist again and the fire in his hand dissipates.

He's still glaring hard enough to melt glass. Doesn’t pull away until Dean does though - just lets the hunter hold him back which is probably a good sign. He’s calm enough not to rush back in. And with the hellfire gone Sam can use his lungs again which is nice.

“Manny,” Gabriel calls out to thin air. “I know you’re listening. Think you can control your monkey?”

And Sam feels the air change. The room already had a cold static charge to it from Cas and Gabriel. But now it increases – it’s almost worse than the hellfire. Electric and fresh. An overwhelming wave of petrichor, ozone and silk. Sam hears the once familiar flutter of wings too.

But then nothing. No new angel. At least that’s what he thinks at first. But then Cas, Gabriel and John all look in the same direction at once.

“What is it,” Dean demands. Still right next to John. Noticing the same things Sam had.

But neither of the angels nor the Hellblazer responds to him. All silent and staring at the same spot until Gabriel speaks a few moments later.

“What, et tu Manny. Et tu?” Gabe complains to the interesting patch of thin air. “I mean I expect it from Cassie, he’s basically the Winchester Chihuahua. But from you Mannael, it stings, it really does!”

Another odd pause.

“I didn’t _abandon_ anyone,” Gabriel says defensively.

“You did kind of scarper out on ‘em,” John points out apparently having calmed down enough to return to casually snide. Sam is absolutely missing part of this conversation. “And almost let the apocalypse happen. Can’t blame the kid for being a bit emotional.”

Then John chuckles and both angels frown at something that only the three of them can hear.

“Your feathers are literally ruffled, mate," John says. "If that ain’t emotional then I don’t know what is.”

Castiel says something in a sharp string of singing Enochian consonants. Too fast for Sam to follow.

Gabriel responds in the same humming language.

Constantine looks back at Sam as if to ask if he understood any of it. Sam shakes his head.

“What is going on?” Dean tries again. A slight hint of threat in his voice.

“They’re _negotiating_ ,” John says now that he is cut out of the conversation as well. “Manny actually gets less useless every day.”

“Fine,” Gabriel says after a few more convoluted chanting phrases of Enochian are exchanged. “But he can’t threaten me with Elle again. That isn’t how that deal was meant to work.”

“Can’t promise that, mate,” John jumps in. “But I’ll agree to a stalemate vis a vis the kid.”

“Fine,” Gabriel sighs. “Can you let me out now?”

“Say it.”

“Geme'ga-n'za,” Gabriel spits the Enochian out like it hurts him.

John smiles and snaps his fingers in an obvious mimicry of Gabe’s usual gesture. The flames die out instantly. “Undo it and Sam’ll break the rest.”

Gabriel goes to snap his fingers too but thinks better of it and just waves towards Chas and Zed. Chas just barely gets out of the way as the guinea pig shimmers and suddenly fills up a whole lot more space. Turns out that she’s a beautiful Latina woman. And Sam’s not sure why he’s surprised by that. He’s just pleased she came back with clothes on.

“And the other thing,” John says. Walks over to the archangel and holds out his hand expectantly. Gabriel rolls his eyes but pulls some kind of box out of thin air and hands it to the Hellblazer.

“Happy?” Gabe asks.

“Yeah, ta,” Constantine smirks back.

“Samsquatch, you mind,” Gabriel gestures grandly at the circle.

Sam looks to John who steps back out of the circle itself then nods. Sam goes to the South point and they both scrape through binding sigils at the same time. Releasing the angel.

“Ha, later suckers,” Gabe says then pauses before snapping out. “Oh, and Sammy, next time you call make it _private_.” The archangel winks lasciviously enough that Sam feels himself start to blush. He just hopes it isn’t too obvious.

The tension in the room drops by metaphoric decibels with Gabriel gone. Sam takes a deep breath of relief and he’s pretty sure he isn’t the only one.

“Mann…” John half turns then sighs. “Right, ta’ra to you too then.”

“Is that it?” the woman who must be Zed says. She stops hugging Chas long enough to come over to hug John instead. He looks a bit surprised by the show of affection but accepts readily enough. Sam can’t blame him.

“Yeah, ‘tis luv. Should do the trick.” He pats her on the back as she pulls away.

“It’s nice to actually meet you,” Zed says then, turning to Cas.

“You too,” Castiel says and nods with his usual solemnity and a slight smile. She rushes over then and takes his hand in hers and squeezes it. Smiling back full force. Sam remembers his own first angel encounter. Cas really has come a long way since then.

“It is _so_ good to have the right type of limbs again,” she says with a breathy laugh. “So do we need to clean up?”

“Nah, not much, luv. A line through the circle and a bucket of water should cleanse off most of it.”

She nods and goes over to help Chas with just that. They’re both obviously familiar with their roles as Constantine’s entourage. Sam stifles a laugh at that.

“Deanna and Samuel Campbell were third cousins,” Cas says to Dean out of the blue.

“Thanks Cas,” Dean says and gives the angel a strange searching look that Sam really can’t translate.

“Okay, I _still_ don’t get why that is such a big deal?” Sam says somewhat grumpily. He’s tired and thirsty and sick of only having half the picture.

Dean gives him the ‘Sammy stop being an idiot’ look. Dean mutters, "Fuck it," half to himself, and stomps over to the Hellblazer, grabs him by the tie and… what the fucking fuck?

His brother, Dean freaking Winchester, is kissing a dude in front of him. In front of other people. In front of this Zed woman (who is totally Dean’s type – aka female and good looking). And in front of Chas, and _Cas_! Kissing a dude in front of Cas. A dude that is most definitely _not_ Cas. Even if they do dress kind of similar…

But that, somehow, isn’t the strangest part. The strangest part is the way John reacts. He just moves in and kisses back. No hesitation, no surprise, despite the tie grab. He just takes a breath before it happens like he knows what is coming the moment Dean stepped in close enough. Moves right automatically where Dean goes left. Moves into it by instinct.

Sam has seen Dean kiss a lot of women over the years. He’d become a bit of an expert in it as a teenager in fact. A little to his chagrin Sam knows exactly how his brother likes to be kissed. And that, right there, is it.

Zed is the only other person who looks even a little bit shocked. Chas doesn't even pause in packing up. Even Castiel is just looking at his shoes like they’re fascinating.

It’s John who breaks first. Pulling back and looking at Dean like he’s frigging astounding.

“You know there’s folk about, right mate?” John says.

“Oh, keep calm and…” Dean starts to say.

“If you say ‘carry on’ I will sodding _burn_ you, Winchester.”

“Promise?” Dean says, with a smirk - all smooth and… oh gross.

Sam has been waiting for this reveal for _years_. Literally years (the sexuality crisis one, that is, not the creepy pain kink thing - that one could have gone without saying). Although he had expected it to be more of a ‘it’s not guys, it’s him’ kind of thing and far more Cas centric. Now it’s _finally_ arrived it turns out that this has just increased the pool of people and things Dean can do to make Sam uncomfortable. Great. He’s already wondering if he can just package his brother all the way back in the closet somehow. There's got to be a spell for that right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _I Want You Around_ is a Ramones song.
> 
> You can read John’s implied half-demon kid as either Maria (from Hellblazer) or Rose (from DC continuity).
> 
> Elle is the succubus from Hellblazer who seduces Gabriel and rips out his heart – giving John control over the archangel.
> 
> * * *
> 
> I has a [tumblr](http://kittyaugust.tumblr.com/) \- <http://kittyaugust.tumblr.com/>
> 
> Also, I know it's annoying to beg for comments but they're seriously what keeps me writing this stuff. So if you enjoyed it (or even if you didn't) it would be really lovely if you can take a moment to let me know. Thank you petals!


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